


Whumptober 2019

by silvereye5



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Whumptober 2019, snarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:23:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvereye5/pseuds/silvereye5
Summary: A Series of Ficlets for the Whumptober 2019 Prompt ChallengeEach chapter is a stand alone.





	1. 1. Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> My aim is to hit at least 21 of the prompts this month. You can find the list on the Whumptober 2019 Tumblr page. 
> 
> Not every chapter will be Snarry, but every chapter will feature either Severus or Harry and there will be no other pairings.

The halls of Hogwarts were different at night. They were quieter, obviously, and they were also colder and bigger. They smelled differently too. Like dust and dirt and air. Harry could feel it on his skin. It sunk into the fabric of his pyjamas and jumper, and lingered once he returned to bed.

The smell changed with the season too. In the fall, there was a hint of cinnamon from somewhere, and in the winter, pine snuck in, and, right now, as they eased into spring, Harry could pick up hints of earth and grass.

Harry wandered down one corridor and then up another. He took the stairs up, and then down again. Going wherever felt right in the moment and not overthinking it. Harry had enough on his mind without worrying overmuch about where he was walking and where he wound up.

His mind was full of Tom Riddle and Voldemort. Dumbledore’s lessons. Draco Malfoy. The Half-Blood Prince. The last thing he cared about tonight was whether he walked the seventh floor or the third.

He stopped when he got to a hall with a long line of windows overlooking the Black Lake. He tugged his invisibility cloak tightly around his shoulders and looked outside. The moon was bright and full, its reflection a perfect circle on the still waters. Harry lost himself in the image.

His breath caught as a dark shadow crossed behind him. He turned his head as the person came to a stop only about an arm’s length away. Harry thought Snape must have sensed him, or that a bit of his leg or arm or hair had escaped the cloak and he’d been spotted, but then Snape approached the window. It was as if he’d been pulled into the picturesque view just as Harry had been.

Snape leaned in, coming very close to pressing his prodigious nose to the glass.He pulled his hands from where they’d been folded in the depths of his robes and laid them against the clear pane. He looked like a child, gazing longingly at sweeties in a bakeshop window. Harry turned his gaze back outside, trying to see whatever it was that Snape saw, whatever had captivated this stoic man.

He saw the same moon, the same lake. The trees along the far bank bent leftward in a gust of wind. Harry could just make out the shapes of owls hunting here and there.

The glass rattled and Harry’s brow furrowed; the wind wasn’t that strong. He looked back over at Snape and saw that the man’s hands were shaking, trembling enough that the glass shook with him. Snape’s jaw clenched and he spread his fingers wide and hard against the pane, forcing them still. When they continued to shake, Snape grimaced and loosened his fingers into a spidery curl. His breathing kicked up and he pressed his forehead against the glass. Harry watched each of his panting breathes fog the window. His face contorted and his lips pulled back to reveal a crooked canine tooth.

Harry was at a loss for what to do. Revealing himself would be suicide, but watching this felt wrong. He couldn’t pull his eyes away though. He’d never imagined Snape felt anything but anger and annoyance, but right now he looked wretched, he looked in pain. Harry swallowed and stayed as still as he could. He didn’t dare even breathe, not even flutter an eyelash.

Snape swallowed once, twice. Harry watched his Adam’s apple jump up and down. He squeezed his eyes tight, so tight all of the skin drew up in deep wrinkles. Harry’d never noticed how smooth the skin on Snape’s face was until it was bunched up in such a way. His whole body shuddered.

Then, he stilled completely.

Snape’s face went slack and smooth. His breathing evened out. His body pulled up straight. It was like nothing had ever happened. His eyes, still sharp, went hollow. Like a light went out.

Harry heard steps behind them. Dumbledore’s voice, a gentle addition to the dark corridor, said as he approached, “Severus, my boy, you are back earlier than expected.”

Snape answered, dull and even, “Yes, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore nodded and combed his fingers through his beard. “Come, come. I am in need of a strong cup of tea and a ginger snap.”

Harry watched them continue down the hall away from him, watched them disappear around the distant corner. He turned his gaze back out to the lake. 


	2. 2. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Nightmare
> 
> This is from the alternate prompt list.

Severus woke, his eyelashes, tacky with sleep, easing apart. He slept more deeply these days than he ever had before in his life. Harry had gone all in on this new habit and bought them nice sheets, a plush comforter, and squishy pillows. Severus thought it indulgent, but it caused both he and Harry to linger in bed longer. A worthy extravagance indeed.

Severus stared up at the ceiling, still and listening, trying to catch whatever noise it was that had woken him. He knew, he always knew, but he wanted to be sure before disturbing Harry.

It started with a small catch in Harry’s breathing and moved on to a low whimper. Severus turned over in the bed. Harry’s hand clutched at the bedsheets between them and Severus reached out his hand to mantle Harry’s. If he could settle Harry quick enough, the man wouldn’t wake. He’d carry on sleeping unawares. The hand beneath his curled tighter, the bones and veins pushing against Harry’s golden skin. Severus shifted closer, giving Harry his warmth and proximity.

Harry was on his side, facing Severus. Severus could see the back-and-forth flicking of his pupils beneath the delicate lids, the flex and release of his jaw, the flare of his nostril.

Severus lifted his hand, but didn’t break contact with Harry’s skin. He slowly ran his hand over Harry’s wrist, caressing the small bump of bone. The pads of Severus’ fingers caught on the fine hair of Harry’s arm, then on the thin fabric of his sleep shirt, before settling on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry keened. Severus made a soft shushing noise. “You are safe, Harry. Safe,” he whispered, his susurration sweeping away a lock of dark hair that had tumbled across Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s breath hitched and his shoulders shook.

Severus had not been quick enough tonight.

Harry’s lashes were wet in an instant, but he didn’t open his eyes, instead squeezing them shut. A tear tracked down the bridge of Harry’s nose and dropped to the pillow beneath his head. Severus shifted his body until he was pressed against Harry’s. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled him impossibly closer, yet still not close enough. Harry was so solid and so real in his arms. A fact that still, all the years later, astounded and amazed Severus. Harry’s muscles, strong and lean, shifted under his hands as he burrowed and curled into Severus. Severus loosened his grip for a mere moment to allow Harry to find his place tucked against Severus. This body, that had seen and done so much in its short years, molded and filled with each bend and nook of Severus’.

One sob, and then another, wracked Harry’s body. Severus clutched him more tightly and buried his nose in the top of the head tucked away against his shoulder. Such a ridiculous, beautiful mop of hair this man had been blessed with. And soft. Severus brought his hand up to the back of Harry’s head, holding him close and steady. His fingers laced amongst those inky strands.

“You are safe, my Harry. Safe at home. In your bed, Harry.”

Harry nodded against him and sniffed wetly.

Harry smelled like tears, damp and salty. There was sure to be a wet spot on Severus’ nightshirt, not that he cared a bit. Holding Harry, breathing in the scent of him, his lavender shampoo and mint toothpaste and grass, always grass— life and light and growth— and bringing him comfort, feeble and delayed as it was, was all that mattered. All that mattered for the rest of Severus’ days. For as long as Severus’ lived, Harry would feel safe and wanted and loved.

Harry’s fingers dug into Severus’ chest, his knobby knees pressing hard against Severus’, but Severus felt none of it. He focused on his breathing and Harry’s, encouraging Harry to match his own.

Slowly, slowly Harry calmed, one breath, two, three, four, another, and another, until the crying ceased. The trembling stilled. Harry’s grasp loosened and fell away. His breathing became the slow and even rise and fall of sleep and not the harsh up and down of fear.

Severus swallowed and closed his eyes, holding Harry against his body for the rest of the night.


End file.
